Acetone and Glue
by CailinNollaig
Summary: It only takes three seconds to completely shred their lives, leaving the discarded, mangled remnants as reminders of their mistakes and their irremediable loss.
1. Chapter One: Daphne

**Acetone and Glue**

**Chapter One: Daphne.**

She bites back tears through clenched teeth; how could it possibly end like this? Usually, the girl sobbing on the floor, clutching the nearest body is her. Not this time. This time, she's taking a back seat to the dramatics. This time, she's not going to meet anyone's eyes or accept any comfort - even if she's screaming out for it. Nothing can be like it used be. Fact. Her life will never be the same again; recent events have ensured that all of their lives are irrevocably changed forever. Most harrowing of this, is that it's not for the better.

Never for the better.

Daphne shudders as she pushes behind her lids another round of fresh tears. She's vaguely aware of the commotion going on around her, but is unable to respond. Lights flash in the corner of her eye obnoxiously, hurting her head and making her feel even worse. Stranger still, the noise blaring from every angle is having no affect. It's as if she can't hear it, but in reality, she doesn't think she could cope without it. The noise drowns out the memory; the noise chases away the screams.

There's a mirror somewhere to her right, but she hasn't even checked her reflection yet. Truthfully, Daphne doesn't even want to. There's nothing there that she wants to see. Ragged hair, torn clothes that reveal stark bruises against deathly pale skin and eyes just as accusing as everyone else's. Her lip wobbles at the thought, but then a siren blares, and it all fades away again.

The new sirens alert her to the fact it's now nightfall - but it doesn't feel like it. It can't be more than twenty minutes since it all happened.

"Ms. Blake? Ms. Blake, I need you to look at me." She absently stares into the paramedics eyes, knowing there's nothing urgent about her. They don't need to look at her. She's not physically impaired, and that's all they care about. They don't care that her life is crumbling, lying in sharp, jagged remnants at her feet. _They don't care._

Ultimately, Daphne doesn't believe anyone will understand or care. An intense feeling of isolation creeps around her, causing her to pull tighter the itchy blanket given to her.

"Just-just listen to me, okay? I know what happened, and I need you to - no, no, you're not listening! _Listen,"_

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave if you don't calm down. Please take a seat and someone will be over to you shortly."

"But... you _need _to save him," There's a heartbreaking desperation that goes along with the crack in his voice, high decibels that occupy the word 'need' like they never did before.

Daphne closes her eyes as she hears it, a single tear carving its winning path down her delicate features. She owes him that much. She owes him her tears. Absently, Daphne wonders at how deranged and derailed she sounds to anyone else, but it doesn't matter. Does anything matter? She could have sworn everything did this morning.

It's funny how some things still remain the same, because she can still feel his gaze upon her. Daphne battles with the urge to turn, to turn and never look back - but she knows what she'll find. He doesn't want her (as he ever?) and she's sure he doesn't want her words. She can't forget his. She can't forget any of the accusations, the cold glare and the unrelenting harshness of their tone.

Bodies are carried out in white plastic bags, and it strikes her as such an insensitive and tragic end to a person. People whose families still think they're safe and sound; people who have legacies; people who have careers, children, dreams, love...

She can overhear officers speaking, unaware of her eavesdropping, with unintentionally callous words, "We're lucky, there should have been twice that amount dead."

_Lucky._

Daphne almost has the inclination to march right up to them, looking them square in the eye and delivering one of her speeches that would most likely make little sense, but drive the point home. She doesn't do it. Sitting in the back of the empty ambulance, wrapped in a cocoon, Daphne doesn't want to leave. She knows she'll run into her, run into him, run into _them. _That, she can't handle.

"Daphne," A hoarse voice says near her, "They... They asked me to come get you. The officers need to speak with you." She glances up to the petite figure of her friend (are they friends?), not surprised by the charred skin coating her left arm, or the burnt fabric of her favourite orange sweater. Black soot decorates her face in thick layers, causing her glasses to look odd - even in their disheveled state. She would normally complain about replacing those. Velma refuses to meet her eyes, her chin held high in the air. Daphne can see her jaw shake though, she can see the slump in her normally stiff frame.

She tries to clear her throat, but it's unbearably dry, "Velma, I-"

"That's all." She snaps, before her eyes soften to the sky. "I can't see you for a while..."

"We should all be together, we can't leave-"

"This isn't like a normal mystery, Daphne," She spits words at her like a child being bullied for their lack of IQ, "We don't just discuss and move on. There's no moving from here, there's no growing from this. Even Fred can't fix this." Daphne shirks back at the brutality, wishing more than anything they could rewind. "If you thought otherwise, you're more naive than I ever thought."

She looks at her for the first time, and finally, Daphne can visibly record the blazing anger in Velma's eyes. That's all that's written on her face; pure, unadulterated anger. Breaking the gaze, Daphne can't help the rush of tears this time, but tries to stop them anyway. She blames her. Sucking in a shuddering breath, Daphne presses her hand to her mouth despite the futility of the action. Velma's gone. They're all gone.

As another white bag glides by her, this one with a figure much different to the rest, Daphne corrects herself. They're not all gone - only one of them is, and it'll haunt her for the rest of her days.

It's then that she begins violently shaking, sobs coming hard and fast, screams exiting her mouth even though she doesn't feel them.

* * *

A/N: Hey :) So, this is my first SD fic. It's a bit out of the ordinary, but still a mystery as you piece together what happened and what happened to who. I would like to take this chance to firmly declare that I will _**NOT BE BASHING** _any characters, even though it looks like Velma is the awful cow in this chapter. Believe me, this is the harshest you'll see her. The next chapter totally changes that.

Disclaimer: don't own SD or "Empty" by Ray LaMontagne, from which the chapter title is taken.

The fic will only be five chapters, each one from a different members POV. A third person POV, but a particular member. They'll occur in different times in relation to the incident above, and will NOT be in consecutive order. In some ways, it ruins the ending, but others, it makes the middle all the more mystifying.

Please, give me your theories on what happened and to who :) I'd love to hear it! Reviews would be might great. I should update tomorrow if I get some, since I have nearly all of the chapters finished.

Solve the mystery.

CN.


	2. Chapter Two: Velma

**Acetone and Glue**

**Chapter Two: Velma**

Quietly humming the tune to the song last on the radio, Velma hops into her dilapidated, red car. She winces as she starts it, the engine once again telling her to get a new car with its huffs and puffs. Velma wishes she could afford a new one, but running a bookshop doesn't exactly make her a millionaire - especially one that specializes in mystery. However, it does do better than one would expect, given it's in Coolsville - the town that seems to be the origin of all things creepy.

Mystery still makes her sad. She wonders if it's the masochist in her that opened the shop, or her logical side pushing through the pain into the light - where the hurt turns to nostalgia and the longing into remembrance. Everyone needs closure, maybe the bookshop was some form of that for Velma. Unlike some, she thinks about it frequently, visiting her past and all past decisions with ease. After all, she deals with logic and facts, but when that fails her - she still has the shop.

It makes her think about her destination: a malt shop, not far from her bookish paradise. She only takes her car because there's a rake of books she wants to bring home - she likes to read books before she sells them, being able to adequately provide a review for everything. Her memory bank fills with tales of knights and witches, of masked villains and suffering heroes.

Pulling up to the shop, her car comes to a rickety halt. Her cheeks color slightly at the odd looks from those around her, some grimacing at the condition of the car. Velma quickly overcomes the embarrassment and locks the piece of junk, shoving the keys into her pocket carelessly. She stops when she sees the green machine she is so familiar with - familiarity so strong it hurts. Velma had thought he sold it long ago, but she supposes that she's not the only one plagued with nostalgia.

It still shocks her, despite whatever many memories she has of the van. It's been five years since they all sat together in that van, exchanging laughs and sidelong glances. She remembers it like it was yesterday, sitting next to Daphne with the wind blowing in her face. A sense of freedom she never truly attained again always accompanied those long road trips, hours spent with the same four people. Yet, it never seemed to get old.

She wonders, if things hadn't changed like they did, would it have ever gotten old?

Fred, driving the van with a grin that reminded everyone why he was their prom king, cracking awful jokes and using whatever opportunity to touch Daphne. Daphne, always pristine and beautiful, an omnipresent cheerful expression on her face as she sat between her and Fred. Velma used to nudge her constantly in regards to Fred, chuckling to herself at the redheads indignant reactions. Shaggy and Scooby would sit in the back, snacking on a seemingly never-ending supply of food as they begged the three in the front to abandon ideas of a mystery. They always wanted a vacation.

Her memories vanish at that thought, replaced with a sad sense of disappointment. They never gave them that vacation. Always too eager to get involved, always ready to jump into the mystery at their feet.

Velma opens the door to the malt shop with a heavy heart, hating herself for taking a trip down memory lane. She had thought she was over getting upset. Shaking away the emotion of the moment, Velma spots her two dear friends sitting in their old, yet still regular, booth in the corner. She can recall fondly all the days spent in this place, searching the newspaper for the latest threat, or watching in amusement as Shaggy and Scooby downed all the cafe had to offer.

As they see her, instantly warm smiles greet her. "Hey Velm," Daphne hugs her, "A bit late, aren't we?"

"I'm on time!" She replies indignantly, protective of her puntuctual reputation.

Fred gives her a one-armed hug over the table, chuckling, "Yeah, but we figured we'd need to be here a half hour early to be here at the same time as you."

"Well, actually, I would have been but then I was distracted by this really _wonderful _-"

"Book?" Daphne and Fred say in unison, laughing as they do. Velma rolls her eyes at her own predictability, not bothering to reply to them. She takes a seat next to Daphne, asking the girl if they had ordered Velma's usual. They have, and it'll be here shortly.

Velma hesitates before speaking, "Is he coming?"

Fred's face darkens, then he exchanges a short look with Daphne, "I don't think so." His head is hung now, and he rubs a hand across his face. As it lands back on the table, Daphne covers his hand with her own, squeezing it in a measure of comfort.

She tries to be helpful, managing a wane smile, "You know he wanted to be." The words seem empty, as true as they are.

"Have you been speaking much to him?" Daphne asks, her eyes inquisitive.

Velma nods, "I visit him as often as I can, usually at least once a week... It's not like he can drive around to the bookshop every now and again." Nothing is the same as it used to be, she is reminded again.

Fred comes to life again then, telling the two girls enthusiastically, "We can visit him after this - I'm sure he'll appreciate it.."

"...He always does." Daphne finishes somberly. It's hard to grasp what seemed to impossible before; a world in which Scooby and Shaggy do not remain glued at the hip. Losing him had been like losing his right arm, and the injustice of it all screams mercilessly at her. He had years left. There's no describing the devastation left behind - they were yin and yang. Though it had never been spoken of aloud, everyone always knew that Scooby and Shaggy had a friendship that ran deeper with each other more than anyone else in the group. It's never quite been a secret. In her whole life, Velma has yet to see a friendship of gold like they shared - much less one between an animal and a human being.

Noticing Fred and Daphne's hands still intertwined, she thinks sadly that they share a bond she was never part of, too. Shaggy and Scooby. Fred and Daphne. Where does she fit in? Where has she ever fit in?

Just as this thought races through her head, something warm grasps her hand and Velma tentatively raises her eyes to meet Daphne's. Sincere, kind eyes gaze back, telling her exactly where her place is and that it's not an insignificant one. They're best friends. Daphne smiles then, an Velma enviously notes her glorious flaming hair, framing her face ethereally even in the unflattering and bright lights of the cafe. She briefly thinks of how odd they must look to outsiders; three adults, sitting in the corner, holding hands.

Steering the topic back to normal territory, to their ordinary lives away from everything, Fred turns to Velma, "So, how is the bookstore going?" Velma doesn't even need to look at him to know his opinion or hear his thoughts, she's always known it. He thinks she's wasted there, that her brain power and ability to harness logic and facts into magical things is a gift. He doesn't understand the _love _and passion she has for this store, how it's everything she's ever dreamed of. She's even begun writing her own book based on their own mysteries, but she doesn't need to tell either of them that yet.

They're not ready for their story to be told, especially when the end is so unwritten.

Regardless, Velma replies simply, "Oh, it's good. It's never going to be a melting pot of gold, but I do love it."

"You always had a gift with mysteries," Daphne compliments her, giving her a gentle nudge.

Fred objects jokingly, "Hey, mysteries were a gang gift!"

They all laugh, Velma loving the sound as it's so rarely rejoiced in these days. She sighs towards the end, and spots the waitress walking towards them, "You know you two should drop by more often. We don't have to always meet here," her words are said lightly, just an invitation. They nod, moving back so that the waitress can place their drinks down. After they say their thanks, Daphne begins to stir hers methodically, causing Velma to watch the hypnotising motion closely.

The waitress pauses, eyes roving over the three of them, "I don't mean to intrude, but are you by any chance the mystery gang?" She's middle-aged, old enough to remember the glory days, with short, brown curls and a face that hasn't taken well to aging. Her eyes are expectant; clear and blue, waiting for a response.

The three of them exchange looks, silently debating who is going to reply, despite that the answer is as obvious as light and day. "We were Mystery Incorporated, but those days are long gone." Fred hesitates, "We don't do that anymore."

The woman sighs, wiping down the table beside them with a ratty cloth, "That's a shame. There's all sorts of creepy goings on in the house across from mine. The kids won't go near the place - they say there's a young woman's ghost there. Apparently, her fiance stole away into the night, taking all of her money -" She sighs laboriously, shaking her head, "And her heart, the bastard. She died shortly after, clutching the diamond ring he failed to get from her."

"Really?" Velma questions, her curiosity piqued - she can't help herself, "Have the kids ever seen her?"

"'Course they have! Where do you think the story comes from?" She replies, as if the question was nonsensical.

Daphne's brow furrows, "Have _you _ever seen her?"

The waitress pauses in her cleaning, straightening slowly. Dramtically, she tosses the rag over her shoulder and gazes out the window of the cafe, "Just the once. I was cleaning the curtains when I saw her. She-she was just sitting there in the window, her face the picture of desolation. Almost looked like she was the one being haunted." She shakes her head, "'Tis a right shame you don't do that stuff anymore. But no matter! You sweetie's okay for anything else?"

"Fine, thanks," Fred murmurs, staring at the table in quiet concentration. Velma would know that look anywhere - the deep frown across his head, the focused clarity in his narrowed eyes, the pursed lips. Despite herself, Velma's heart beats faster and the adrenalin pumps in her veins in anticipation of what is to come.

"Gang, I can't believe it but... it looks like we have a mystery on our hands." The determination and excitement isn't as strong as before, instead replaced with question of co-operation and askance. He searches the girls expressions for signs of their opinions, but Velma almost knows already what Daphne will say.

"I-I can't," She chokes out, her eyes closed.

Fred's thumb caresses her hand softly, but he only becomes stronger in his proposal, "This is what we _are. _We've been gone for so long, doing things that will never give us the same feeling as solving mysteries did. Never recreate that same adrenalin and rush. It's what we're meant to do!" He tries, almost frantically, "I mean, look at us. Even though our lives have gone on, we've all only gone onto places where there's a semblance of mystery. Law enforcement, journalism, a _mystery book shop?" _Fred asks incredulously, "We can't run anymore. It'll never be the same, it'll never be as great - but at least it'll _be."_

His words evoke something buried deep within her, a yearning that she had never come to examine. She doesn't want to be excited, she doesn't want to take his words straight to the heart, convincing her head this is what she wants. The past can't be forgotten. Yet, beyond all of the anger, resentment, longing and pain in her memories, one thought resounds above the rest: _He's right._

"I'm in." It takes a moment for Velma to realise that it's not her voice, but Daphne. The woman looks more scared than she's ever seen her - and that's saying something - but there's a certainty in her eyes that says she wants this.

They look to Velma then, who can't help the raging smile on her face, "We've got a mystery solve. We just need one more.."

"And I don't think we'll have a problem with him," Fred tells them, looking more alive than she's seen him in five years.

* * *

A/N: Hey :) Thanks for the review I did get last chapter! haha.. I'm not getting much traffic on this, but I'm going to finish it anyway because I only have one chapter left to write so I may as well. I'll update again tomorrow - and, remember, there's five chapters.

Theories are more than welcome!

Reviews would be wonderful. Thanks for reading,

CN.


	3. Chapter Three: Fred

**Acetone and Glue**

**Chapter: Fred.**

"Stupid wind," He mutters, irritated. The wind whips relentlessly against his strong form, causing annoyance to build slowly within Fred Jones. His short hair blows like grass thrown into the air, while he has to pull his blue winter jacket closer against his body to maintain any warmth. More than any other weather form, Fred hates the wind. It makes the rain painful, the cold biting and the snow blinding. He'd rather be drowning in the rain than getting swept away in the gust of this wind.

His destination doesn't make the trip any easier. His walking is considerably slowed by the treacherous weather, but he perseveres through it because he is on a mission that can't be interrupted this time. It seems that every time he tries to make this long trek from one end of Coolsville to the other, some obstacle places itself in front of him.

Last time it was an armed robber, the time before it was a visit from his mother. It seems as though he's not supposed to do this, but Fred has to. His life will never know closure, his heart never move on if he doesn't do this. Every night, he's plagued by demons from his past, and it's time to get rid of them once and for all. The guilt, the hurt, the resentment; all of it has to go. Fred doesn't think his life will ever be normal until he does this.

What is a normal life, you may ask, but this answer comes so easily to Fred because his life has never truly known it these past years. Normal is being able sleep through the night at least once a week, normal is seeing the comedy in things and not always the ways it could go wrong, normal is being able to accept dates and ask for numbers. More than anything, he just wants something akin to closure.

It's been three years. He thinks that a grudge shouldn't last this long.

He's at the house then, and it's deceptively bright and homey looking. A stranger would take one look at the house, its occupant, and make assumptions that can't be further from the truth. An image of a young, pretty woman with colourful flowers dotting her garden and a white house behind a white picket fence. The house is big despite its single income, but he already knew that she's successful. He's driven past her house many times in the past, and narrowly avoided run-ins with her in their small town, too.

Fred sucks in a mouthful of air, assuring himself slowly. He raises his hand to the door and knocks confidently, ready for what is ahead. He's been over this so many times, he has the whole scene scripted to a 'T' and isn't going to let himself deviate from it. All those hours thinking, re-thinking and plotting can't go to waste - not after being reprimanded by his boss so many times for drifting.

It takes, in estimation, about three minutes to answer this door. Though it sounds like nothing, it's actually a rather long time to stand, a lonely figure, on an empty doorstep. The minute he sees her face, it's like a smack to the chest. _Everything _comes rushing back. His plan goes out the window. His mouth is dry.

"F-Freddie?" She asks, her eyes sizing him up. He can't speak. God, he had forgotten how beautiful she is. How could he omit that? How on earth... As Fred ponders this, Daphne stands opposite him, waiting for some words. She doesn't appear to have any either, and the two are left with staring lamely at each other.

Her red hair is without her signature band, falling naturally and loosely to her elbows - longer than before, but just as thick. He still has the primal urge to run his hand through it, reveling in its silk softness, smelling in the scent of that damned shampoo she always wore. He can smell it even now.

Daphne pulls her nightgown, which reaches just above her knee, tight. He remembers how cold it is out then, and numbly gestures to inside of the house. She obliges immediately, standing aside to allow him through the gap. He surveys the surroundings interestedly, observing her decorating with a keen eye. Purples, beige and pink are scattered throughout the downstairs rooms - he has a fair view of them all from his spot in the hall. It's decorated richly, but Fred can't help but notice it's void of feeling. There's an emptiness, a lack of personal touch that bothers him for some reason.

"Fred, what are you doing here?" Her voice is quiet, almost timid. Fred wonders how they ever became so distant that she spoke to _him _like that; he, who vowed to protect her from everything ghastly in the world (he failed); he, who swore to stand by her side through everything (he failed); he, who told her all his fears and promised he'd never let hers come true (he failed).

Shaking his head lightly, Fred is once again at a loss of where to start. "I'm sorry, can-can we sit down or something?"

"Did something happen?" Daphne's eyes turn frantic, panic in her voice, and he instantly feels guilty.

Habit returning to him in an odd way, Fred takes hold of her upper-arms gently, rubbing them ever so slightly in an effort to comfort her, "No, no... nothing else, anyway..." The words have a significant affect.

She laughs - but it's not the tinkling laughter that made his heart jump in his youth - it's dry, mocking and lacks any humour, "Nothing else. Oh, what a relief."

"Daph, I-"

"No," She says frostily, cutting him off clean, "You can't call me that anymore."

There's no appropriate response to that, so he doesn't attempt to give one. Instead, Fred follows her into the sitting room in silence. He's surprised by the noticeable lack of purple, the colour being replaced with a blander beige. He doesn't know whether this is maturity or loss of identity, but doesn't get to ponder it much further, because she tells him to take a seat and then rests herself on the one across from him. She's lost some of the spirit she once had; her spunk, that energy and innocence is gone. Instead, she's a beautiful, broken doll.

He swallows, "I'm sorry."

"You-you're what?" He can tell it shocks her, but doesn't know why. Surely she's been waiting for this for years?

Starting slowly, "I'm sorry...I've owed you that for a few years now. It-it wasn't fair to blame you. It wasn't your fault." He watches, heart aching, as she closes her eyes softly, a soft sound of relief coming from her lips. Two tears come free from her lids, gliding down her face in a perfect picture of sorrow, and yet, relief.

He begins to wonder if she knew she was searching for that. Wanting to provide more than just this, he stands from the couch. With only slight hesitance, he approaches Daphne and kneels in front of her. His hand reaches up to touch her knee, his thumb brushing across it gently. Her almond-shaped, azure eyes have yet to reveal themselves to him again. He needs to give her more than this empty apology. "There was a number of factors that day... I'm just as to blame as you are. He was right when he said that, you know," His eyes seek out hers imploringly, but she refuses to open hers.

"I hope you can forgive me." Fred whispers, knowing this, above all, to be true. "You were always one of my best friends, Daph. I know you don't want me to call you that, and I know I have no right, but I-I'd do anything to have you call me Freddie again."

"I did already," is her hoarse reply, "It slipped out of my mouth at the door before I could even stop it."

He tries to calculate his next words, "I'm glad you didn't stop it. I can't move on without you, Daphne. I've tried to bury this guilt, I've tried to bury the memories - but, God, you've been apart of my whole life. How can anyone erase that?" She doesn't respond. "I just want your forgiveness."

Seconds tick by, indicated by a small, golden and expensive-looking clock on top of the mantelpiece. He doesn't have to watch it to feel the time moving, but his eyes couldn't move from her form even if he wanted them to. His heart sinks as she doesn't offer anything back, only lifting her chin slightly, still keeping her eyes closed. Fred had - foolishly, maybe - thought he still knew this redheaded angel. Her innocence, and kind, warm heart that willingly accepted people into it so easily, so trustingly, would allow him to be forgiven.

He's beginning to think it was very foolish.

Fred squeezes his eyes shut, conveying his frustration and anger - at himself more than anyone else - before moving to stand. He's nearly standing outright, when a hand jolts out to halt him mid-movement. Bright, blue eyes, glistening magnificently, grasp his own sapphire stare. The capability of speech departs him and he gapes at her helplessly.

In a swift move, she throws her arms around him, pulling him close to her dainty body. She holds him fiercely, and he can feel light tears against his jacket, but this doesn't stop him from wrapping his hands around her waist with equal ferocity.

The words that have been haunting him since the day he warranted them necessary are breathed into his ear then, giving him a certain relief he would never be able to recall with full clarity.

"Oh, Freddie, of course I forgive you."

* * *

A/N: Hey, you. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next one will be out tomorrow. Thank you for all the reviews, they're very encouraging :) Many of you have hazard guesses as to what happened, but some shall be revealed next chapter.

The timeline of the chapters shouldn't be too difficult to understand, but ask me if there's any confusion :)

Thank you for reading, and reviews would be the da bomb (90s flashback.),

CN.


	4. Chapter Four: Scooby-Doo

**Acetone and Glue**

**Chapter Four: Scooby-Doo**

"Like, man, why do me and Scoob always have to be bait," Shaggy wines, allowing Daphne to adjust his make-up while they speak. Scooby nods dutifully beside him, a huff in his tone.

Velma only rolls her eyes fondly, "You two like Scooby Snacks too much, that's your battle." The remaining two of the gang, Fred and Daphne, laugh at this. They're sitting in an old-fashioned living room in an abandoned house, equipped with worn, pink flowery curtains, a torn up couch and dirt-splattered walls. The house hasn't always been abandoned, just a few short weeks ago a young couple occupied it, ready to transform it into a cozy house with love, modern decor and laughter.

That's when the double homicide occurred. A ghost is what the local people called it, so Mystery Inc. were instantly called on the case. Since then, they've localised the activity to the upstairs vicinity of the house - they can hear the man stumbling around, cackling menacingly, as they sit downstairs now. There's one irrevocable fact of this case: that's not a ghost. Then again, is it ever?

Demented by the death of his wife in front of his eyes (or so they've been told), he roams the upstairs rooms, searching for her. They can't help but feel some sympathy, but largely, this is overrode by some things. Naturally.

Scooby and Shaggy are being dressed as women, starting in different places of the house in order to try lure the man downstairs. Near the middle of the stairs, they've set a trap that causes the culprit to fall down the stairs and into their awaiting, but hidden, net. Daphne has repeatedly voiced her concerns over this, reiterated the fact that they're not dealing with a scared, little man behind a mask this time.

She says it again, "I'm not so sure this is a good idea.." Daphne finishes Shaggy's lip make-up, shrugging when as she resigns to the fact it's the best she can do.

"Re reither!" Scooby agrees fearfully, standing partially behind Shaggy.

"C'mon guys, it'll be fine. I've got a tazer here if there's any real trouble, and I'll be waiting at the top of the stairs the whole time in case something goes wrong." Fred pats them both on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture.

Shaggy gulps audibly, "Like, I guess we better go."

"Exactly!" Velma tells him, "The quicker it's done, the quicker it's over." Velma's theory originates within the house - she doesn't know who it is exactly, but thinks they want to scare away prospective buyers and keep the estate to themselves.

"The police should be doing this." Daphne mumbles, shaking her head. They don't respond to her, only ready Scooby and Shaggy to begin the ascend up the stairs. Before they can do this, Fred halts everyone.

"Okay, gang, just to go over the plan one more time," Velma groans, but the others just listen. "Shaggy, you'll go for the west wing of the house, Scooby the east. Try and lure the ghost out towards the stairs. When there, I'll jump out of the bathroom and push him down the stairs, where Velma and Daphne will be waiting to ensure the net tripping mechanism works, and to throw it over him if it doesn't. Are we all clear?" When he receives a round of affirmation, Fred begins to walk up the stairs. Behind him, a nervous Shaggy and Scooby tread the steps.

Velma turns to Daphne, both of them situating themselves with the net, "I have a bad feeling about this."

"You do?" Her eyes are wide, surprised by the confession.

Before Velma can form a coherent reply, a mist suddenly clouds their vision, encircling them menacingly and slowly draining them of consciousness. Fred turns to look back at them from his place at the top of the stairs, ready to try and save them, but his intentions are all in vain as the gas spreads throughout the house and sleep overcomes him, too. His last thought is of whether he'll be able to save Daphne this time.

* * *

He wakes with a highly disorientated feeling, but ever so slowly, the situation at hand presents itself to him again. Fred's eyes spring open, immediately scanning his surroundings. This isn't where he fell down, and he realises he's been moved. Cursing their bad luck and idiocy for thinking they could take on the case, Fred continues his gaze to roam the room. It's then he see's Daphne lying on the ground in the middle of the floor, clutching her head. He rushes to her side, asking if she's okay, when everything becomes eerie.

A manic, crawling laughter circles them, echoing in the small room. "Oh, Daphne and Fred, the dread. The trapper is trapped!"

Fred frowns, "We know that voice..." Daphne only looks at him, not picking up on the same familiarity as him.

"Let me tell you a story Mystery Inc, now that you are all so incapable of doing anything." He can hear the mocking in the man's voice, "Thought you could plan something and I wouldn't _hear _it? Even the so-called brains of the group didn't catch onto that. Poor, little Daphne, you knew this was a bad idea, didn't you?"

Feigned sympathy laces is tone, but neither Fred or Daphne shirk back. He continues, "But no one would listen, because at the end of the day, you're just a pretty face. Right, gang? Fred, caught in a trap despite being the 'trapper' of the group. Sending his friends into danger without question - but big, bad, brave Freddie wouldn't go himself. Right?"

Daphne raises her hand to clutch Fred's chest, pulling herself closer to him. She feels on edge - like the maniac is going to jump out of nowhere and tear them apart. She knows what he's capable of. Instead of doing anything, they only listen to his taunts. "Finally, Shaggy and Scooby. So disposable. I mean, that's the message I get from every mystery you undertake."

"Who _are _you?" Fred rages, his face contorted in anger. He's suddenly banging on the door then, gripping the handle harshly and battling with it to open. It's futile.

"Fred..." Daphne says, and the terror in her voice makes him turn, "What's that?"

What they hadn't noticed previously, by some miracle, is the bundle of wires and technology in the corner. It looks like two car batteries, but Fred has more knowledge than that. Realisation dawning on him, he reaches forward and pulls Daphne away from it, "That's a bomb."

"Oh, look at that, Fred has finally solved something on his own." A masculine voice snarls. "You're a waster. I knew it from the moment I set eyes on yo-"

"Officer Terry!" Velma screams, reverberating throughout the house from her spot downstairs, "It's been _you _all along. That's why we had no contact with the police - are you even an officer? Did you make up the homicide?" Everyone can hear the cogs in her head turning, "But-but no, _you're _the one who killed them.."

"Velma!" Daphne cries, "You're okay - oh, thank God.." Before the aforementioned girl can reply, the 'ghost' speaks again as if Daphne' hadn't.

"Right again, Velma. How clever." His voice is bored, disinterested. "Daphne, Fred," He sings, "You might want to approach that little device again. It'll tell you all you need to know. For now, why don't I take a seat beside our dear brainbox. She does so interest me."

Daphne blanches at his implied leering, feeling for Fred beside her instinctively. He rubs her arm gently, but then directs them over to the bomb. There's one timer tied to what looks like two explosives, and it ticks by incessantly, knocking precious time away. It reads two minutes.

Tears flood Daphne, and Fred shakes a little, lost as to what he should do. They need Velma here.

Fred clears his throat, "Velm? Where are you? Can you hear us?"

"I can hear you, Fred. It looks like the easiest way to contain me was to wrap me up in our own net," Her voice is wry, and despite the situation, makes Fred almost smile because it's so Velma-like. This thought is cut short by his friends yelling.

"Shaggy," Daphne calls out brokenly, banging the door again, "Shaggy, can you hear me?"

"Daph," A gravelly, high-pitched voice belonging to one Norville Rogers replies. "Like, I can hear you."

"Are-are you okay?"

He pauses, and Fred can almost imagine him nodding, "Yeah, but there's a few batteries lying around me..."

"Bombs, Norville," Officer Terry interrupts, gloating. "You see, the rooms I tied Scooby and Shaggy up in are on opposite sides of the house. There's four wires on your device, Fred and Daphne. One, will kill Shaggy. The other, shall end Scooby. And the final two will either allow you to go free or kill you all. Enjoy."

Daphne whimpers, feeling a sense of hopelessness overwhelm her. She has no words or actions in mind, and slides down onto the floor helplessly. Fred frowns at this, "We can figure this out. Daphne, you guard the bomb.. I'll try talk to Velma and with that, you can cut the wire."

"Velma?"

"I can still hear you, Fred. I also heard him. Terry, what do you get from this? What's your endgame?"

"This is the endgame, Velma. The end."

"Tell us the wire. We'll set it off when we leave the house, you can die with a horrifying legacy, and we'll leave the house, scarred by its incidents."

* * *

Scooby-Doo remains lonesome in the oldest room of the dilapidated mansion, in the furthest part of the west wing. Due to his keen sense of hearing, he can hear every conversation passing between his friends, even though a human would not manage that. He can't help the small whine that escapes him upon listening to the deranged man speaking about hurting all of them.

He noticed the bombs in the room ages ago, but like Shaggy, hadn't been aware of what they were till now. He can't let Shaggy die. He can't let them hurt Daphne, Fred and Velma - he's Scooby-Doo, dog wonder. What kind of wonder would let his friends perish at the hands of some monster? He bites carefully through the rope that has been tied around him expertly by the officer, but it's no match for Scooby's incisors.

Roaming the room carefully, he realises sadly that he can't break the door down. He wishes he was smart like Velma, or able to pick locks like Daphne. He wishes he was with Shaggy.

He listens in again to the conversation going on, with Velma attempting to coax information out of the mad man. She's getting frustrated - Scooby knows, because he's often been on the end of that stern look after too many snacks, or a cowardly refusal to go with them. Scooby whimpers a little at this, sorry for not refusing this time and adamantly staying with Velma.

Scooby sniffs the bombs, not picking up any particular scent. They really do look like batteries - he nearly ate one before - but with bright yellow wires that are stark against the otherwise dull black machine.

His stomach grumbles, and Scooby thinks to this morning, he had Shaggy wolfed down a delicious stack of pancakes before their breakfast. It was coated in maple syrup, chocolate sauce and gravy. The combination had been delicious.

His mouth waters at the thought, but his eyes follow when he thinks of Shaggy getting hurt and not being able to do that again.

"Cut the wire, Daphne!" Fred says, "Fine, I'll do it then,"

"Fred, wait! Velma could be wrong - we don't know the answer, and we have seconds left to figure this out. Just let me try pick the lock again, we can rescue the other two and-and-"

"There's _no time._"

"I know in my gut the yellow wire is not right," Daphne replies, and it sounds as if she's pushing him back from the device. Scooby's never heard them argue before. It disturbs him to no end, but more than that, the content of their argument makes him uneasy. The yellow wires...

If he bites through them, maybe then the others will survive. The yellow wire leads to him.

Scooby-Doo: wonderdog.

* * *

"Fred, will you please trust me?" She pleads with him, feeling desperate and fighting a losing battle.

_3..._

He's shaking his head at her, frustrated with her delaying of their actions, "We have to do something or we're all dead."

"We will, I-I just think whatever he says is-"

"A lie? Yeah, we know. He said to cut the black wire, Velma said yellow so-"

_...2..._

"Do you always have to believe Velma?" She screeches, hitting his chest. The bomb begins ticking ominously, loudly foretelling that something unchangeable is about to occur.

They stand still for a second, breathing heavily and ignoring the shouts of all the other occupants of the house. Daphne nods, finally succumbing to his words, "Fine, I'll cut it." She finally lets him go, allowing him to cut it, also. They kneel together, grasping the pliers deftly. Before the metal even touches the plastic, there's an unforgivable blast that knocks them right over.

Their world turns black.

* * *

Fred wakes blearily, feeling around for Daphne. Someone is suddenly carrying him out though, picking him up with ease and maneuvering him out of the room. His thoughts are fuzzy; his eyesight fuzzier. Millions of things rush into his mind all at once, and he finds he can't form a coherent sentence to even vocalise one of them. The medics are saying calming phrases, and soon enough, the cloud in his mind begins to lift. He opens his eyes once more, and this time, a different sight greets him.

The house is almost entirely collapsed on one side, with the other appearing significantly damaged. He's directed to an ambulance where he sees Daphne and Velma, looking probably as rough as he does. He clutches his side as he walks, ignoring the searing pain that ripples through his body. As he gets closer, he realises they're not speaking, but with their heads bent. There doesn't seem to be any crying.

Fred stops in front of them, his heart beginning to beat fast as he see's there's only three of them here, "Wh-what-?"

"I don't know where they are," Daphne responds first, her face downcast.

"You don't know?" Fred questions. He's struck dumb for a moment, but then, a building of rage builds itself within him. He feels like smashing the door next to him as he realises what has happened. His brain races, thinking through the last moments, tying to piece everything together, "You didn't cut the wire!"

Her mouth falls open, and she stutters out something incoherent. "F-Fred, that's... there's not... I-I didn't.."

"You didn't. You didn't Daphne, that's the point, and now they're gone and it's your fault." He throws his arms up in the air in frustration, "I'm going in. I'm not just going to sit here feeling sorry for myself - they-they could still be okay.." Before either girl can reply, Fred runs back to storm the building.

"He's not going to get very far." Velma announces softly, and Daphne turns to look at her. She tries to speak, but Velma shakes her head, "I-I can't, Daphne."

She leaves then. Daphne sits alone in the ambulance for a long time after that.

* * *

A/N: Hi all! So, this is the second last chapter. The whole "how" is identified here, but "who" is still up in the air... though I know many of you think you have it solved ;) Not all is as it seems though... Thank so much for the reviews, and sorry for not updating yesterday, I just didn't get the time! I'll more than likely get the final chapter out tomorrow, as if I don't, I never will because exams begin Monday.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed this. I'm not happy with it, but what can you do!

Thanks for reading,

CN.

P.S. Reviews would make my study-filled day!


	5. Chapter Five: Shaggy

**Acetone and Glue**

**Chapter Five: Shaggy.**

Eyes lingering on the screen, he ponders whether this is the right decision. He can see the worry lines across his forehead in the reflection, which he has to strain to observe over the long message he typed out. The message is nothing of great esteem; there's no clever references, no elaborate words or highly profound statements. That's not him, and he doesn't see why he should try and change that.

Shaggy's finger hovers over the mouse, wondering whether he should finally press that button to send this controversial email off. In the end, he concludes that this is what he has to do, and promptly pushes his finger down on the button. He blinks. What had he expected to happen next? There's nothing left to do but wait. A message tells him that his email has been delivered to the three recipients, which he's thankful for because he was unsure of the addresses. Glancing around, Shaggy deliberates on what he should do now. Distracting himself would probably be best.

He manages the trip down to the kitchen, and although it usually holds memories to painful to think about, he finds that lately this has become less of a problem. Shaggy figures this is the healing people talking a lot about. He often tunes out those monotonous, fake, comforting words of strangers. They don't understand, and they never will. Only three people can understand a _slice _of how he feels. And, to be quite frank, coming from the 'idiot' of the group, he can't remember when they became so stupid.

Shaggy doesn't talk much to the others. They tried, initially, when everything happened but he hadn't been very receptive - and it didn't help that they kept running into each other in their visits to him. Eventually, they simply tried to avoid seeing each other as much as possible, which as a consequence, meant him, too.

They're not going to remain young forever. They're going to grow old and feeble, like everyone else in this world, and he doesn't see the sense in wasting what they have now. If there's anything he's learned, it's to value _everything. _From sight to sound, from friends to family, everything must be treasured. Youth has become one of the valuables Shaggy's been thinking a lot about lately, too. It's time to stop wasting it and to get his friends back.

His laptop alerts him to a new message with a rather piercing bing, making him rush back to his room as quickly as he can. He balances his tray of food precariously, not the least perturbed by the cereal mixing with the soup as the tray rocks, but feeling quite troubled by the thought of the food falling on the ground.

Finally reaching the laptop, he reaches upwards and pulls it onto his lap, "Like, wow. Two messages already." He remarks aloud, knowing there's no one around to him. A pang of sadness resonates inside of him, and he banishes the thought like he always does - the thought of another pet.

They're polite and formal, nothing like what Shaggy used to receive from them. He's not surprised it's come to this, nor does he blame anyone. Most importantly, however, is the acceptance to visit him later today. That's all he wanted to know, really, the rest can be deducted from their visit. Feeling excitement and a sense of anticipation ignite his bones, Shaggy begins to get the place in order.

In other words, he begins cooking.

* * *

Daphne is the first to arrive.

She looks a little dazed, throwing her coat onto the banisters rather carelessly for someone who fawns over the designer fabric. Her image is flawless as usual; nice red hair, nice eyes, nice clothes. Shaggy doesn't have anything more to say about Daphne's appearance; she always looks nice. Shaggy gives her a wide smile and gestures towards the kitchen, and she goes forth as instructed.

"How are you?" She asks, and he can hear the concern quite clearly.

He's glad they still care, it's a good sign. Shaggy decides to be entirely truthful, "Better. It's not easy, you know? Nothing is easy anymore, but it's at least getting better."

Daphne nods, "Small improvements can make all the difference some times."

"Want some grub? I cooked up a storm..." They reach the kitchen there, where Daphne abruptly bursts into laughter. Shaggy smiles at her, loving the sound of them laughing again. He's hated the silence and solemn nature of their conversations. She waves her hand wildly at the sight greeting her, which makes him chuckle, too.

"Like, Daph, it takes work to make something taste so good."

She's about to reply, amusement filling her features, when the doorbell rings and all humour vanishes. Shaggy glances warily towards Daphne as he moves to answer the door, "You can sit."

Fred and Velma stand at the door together, both directing their frustrated stares at him. He shrugs a little helplessly, giving them a lame, "Hey, guys."

"Shaggy, what's this all about?" Fred asks, always striving to gain control over the situation. Shaggy doesn't answer but returns to the kitchen, telling them to follow him. He's mildly surprised to find that they follow him - but he supposes guilt goes a long way in these situations.

"Fred," Daphne says first, and Shaggy notes that there isn't dread on her face like there used to be. He supposes Fred took his advice and spoke to her recently.

"Oh, hey, Daph... Didn't know you'd be here," He sounds a bit sheepish.

Velma gets impatient then, "What's going on here? I thought we decided it was best for us all not to see each other anymore."

Shaggy raises his hand, "If you could just listen to me for a minute? Come on, we're a team. Do you want me rehash the banana split analogy? Or maybe create a new one from my famous candy potpie?"

Daphne blanches at this, "That pie is disgusting, Shaggy."

He bristles a little, mumbling lowly, "Scoob loved it."

This brings out the exact reaction he didn't want - Velma reaches for her jacket, Fred's turning to leave and Daphne's gaze drops to the floor. They're all speaking at once, telling him about how stupid this is, how they shouldn't here and don't want to be here - how he is cruel to throw this unsuspecting meeting at him. He shakes his head, "You knew you'd all be here. That email had all three of you in it. Daphne, it wasn't your fault."

Her eyes race to meet his, shock visible, "But-but Shaggy-"

"It was, like, totally unfair for you to be blamed. It could have just as easily been Velma's fault... Let's be honest, we're all looking for someone to blame here. Someone to take the fall - Daphne was that person. But the only person to blame here is him."

Velma's shaking her head then, gaze directed at the ceiling as the words make their way through her mind. She looks the same as she always did, but even less fashionable - if that were even possible - and there's blotches of ink dotting her right sleeve. He thinks she looks pretty despite that, more refined and mature than she ever has. More than that, she still looks cool to him. "Shaggy, we've said our pieces. It's not about blame anymore."

"Maybe... maybe he's right. If-if you guys can find it in you to forgive me, then why can't we be friends?"

"You can't just reverse three years of resentment," Velma snaps at her, her tone as harsh as her words. A breath of cold air rushes in, and Daphne seems affronted.

Fred intervenes then, "While I agree with Shaggy, I think Velma's right. There's... there's just not enough to work with. We-we can't be friends without him."

Shaggy shakes his head, "He's _my _dog and _my _best friend. I think I'm the judge of that. If I can let go of it, why can't you?"

"It's like acetone and glue," Daphne comments sadly, "Scooby was the glue, and that mess was the acetone."

Fred blinks. "What?"

With a roll of her eyes, Velma explains, "Acetone is what's used to take off nail varnish, but also can have the effect of softening and dissolving glue."

"Like, that's nearly as good as my banana analogy, Daph." Her expression is soft, a slight look of amusement directed at him. "But as I said, if I want to be friends, why don't you?"

Velma appears to be on the verge of agreeing with him then, meeting his eyes with a calculated stare that tells him she's seriously thinking it over. They have to have missed each other as much as he has. This can't be just him feeling this way. He's had time to grieve, he's been healing for three years, and now it's time to heal something else along with that. They need each other to make it through these final recovery steps. He wants to make new memories of jovial laughs, stupid jokes and long, lazy evenings.

He's becoming confident in their agreeing when suddenly, Fred throws his hands in the air, "This is ridiculous. We can't be together anymore - look at what happened last time! Daphne and Velma pretty much hate each other, Scooby is _gone. GONE." _He yells this as high as he can, his voice reaching his peak and cracking slightly. They wince at the sound, but it still hits Shaggy's chest with force. Hearing those words never gets easier, no matter what time claims it can do. "And Shaggy..." His voice is sad now, a desperate and painful finish to his thoughts, ".. Shaggy, you're in a _wheelchair._"

The response is automatic, everyone's stares are immediately directed to the metal contraption he sits comfortably in. Shaggy shifts his weight in it uncomfortably, but he doesn't try and move. He wishes they would stop acting as if it is their problem, as if they are the victim in this whole scenario. Again, if he can live with this, they should be able to. If anyone should have a problem, it should be him - and he definitely does not. Not anymore.

"If I don't have a problem, you shouldn't either." There's no malice or strength, only a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, Daphne," Velma whispers brokenly, turning to the girl, "I didn't mean what I said. It's not your fault - Shaggy's right, we all had a part to play. You just got the blame. I'm so sorry."

"The only person to blame here is Terry." Fred agrees, breaking the silence after Velma's admission. Daphne just looks at her, seemingly knocked for two once again today. Tears well in her pretty eyes, and Velma reaches out her hand to shake.

Daphne ignores it and hugs the girl tightly, squeezing tightly and saying nothing. Fred and Shaggy look at each other, a silent apology in the other man's gaze. He doesn't need to say anything, but tries to, causing Shaggy to promptly cut him off, "Dude, forget it."

Fred nods.

"Guys, I've got some really good food inside. And I don't know about you, but all this talking is, like, starving me."

They laugh, and he relishes in this sound, too. He can't emphasis how long it's been since he heard them all laugh together, since they've all willingly sat down to a meal without it ending in screams and accusations. They hadn't spoken in almost three years.

There's a powerful and moving feeling of peace that overcomes him then, settling his worries and making his chair seem like no big deal. He feels more alive than he has since the 'accident', feels more secure than he can remember. He doesn't think anyone has ever really understood how important and vital they all are to each other - without each person, their lives don't feel right. Without each other, they become a disjointed puzzle with no solution.

The hurt remains. He misses Scooby so much sometimes that it physically pains him to think about, and on the worst of days, even his appetite leaves him to his loneliness. There's a companion missing that will never be replaced, no one ever could even try, but Shaggy has to be thankful that he's able now - three years later - too look back with fondness. He can remember the "r's" in every word, he's surprised when half his sandwich hasn't disappeared when he turns around and he brainstorms new recipes and odd combinations alone now - but with the knowledge of his best friends preferences. Scooby was his best friend, and in many ways, he always will be. That doesn't mean life can't go on, or that it shouldn't.

They've lost a member, but in that, they have to be able to find help in each other. In plainest terms, they're a family - a strange, sleuthing, insistent and clashing family. But they're a family. Every family has fights, losses and good times, but remaining together through that will be their true mark.

This is Mystery Inc., not the ghosts and ghouls.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the ridiculously long wait, guys! My exams started and I didn't get time to write till now. I'm not exactly happy with this one, I prefer the first three chapters, but I think an end to the story was necessary. Any questions, please feel free to answer! I know there are some things many of you will want answers to. If you would like me to write anything SD, feel free to write a suggestion, too. Always open to those.

I have to say, the SD fandom has been lovely to write for, and thank you for all your kind reviews :) I hope you enjoyed this somewhat unconventional mystery!

Thank you,

CailinNollaig.


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